


The Red-Furred League

by Rosencrantz



Category: The Great Mouse Detective (1986)
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, convergent mouse society, i'm sorry i didn't manage to cross this over with the rescuers, it's not a direct lift, references to mouse burlesque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 14:08:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2814770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/pseuds/Rosencrantz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young red mouse comes to Basil of Baker Street with a most unique case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Red-Furred League

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Violsva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violsva/gifts).



> Notes from the Management: Any anachronisms can be assumed to be that the mice invented it first. The bit with the flute is a reference to the Basil of Baker Street books. Jabeen is what you get when you think 'what's a girl version of Jabez?'
> 
> Your prompt was delightful.

It was a cool, foggy morning in early September when she came through the door. Dawson was scandalized, Basil less so. She was a round little mouse, of a most vivid shade of red, clad in a tweed coat with elbow patches and _trousers_. 

Her little paws ran over her whiskers nervously.

"Mr. Basil? Of Baker Street?" she asked, in a timid wavering voice. Behind her, Mrs. Judson tut-tutted, whether at the red mouse's attire or the early hour, Dawson could not say.

Basil put down his flute, an instrument he had taken up with much success after the unfortunate destruction of his violin. ("Not much like our upstairs neighbour," Dawson had said. 

"But it feels more true," Basil had replied.)

"She just waltzed in before I could announce her, sir," said Mrs. Judson with disapproval. Ah, there we go, thought Dawson.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, but there's quite a bit of a problem that I need to talk to you about and I was told you're the very best, sir," said the little red mouse. Her whisker twitching grew in speed. 

Dawson focused on her face for propriety. Legs! The last time he'd been around a lady mouse's legs, it had been the burlesque in the Ratigan case. His mustache twitched.

"What can I and my associate Dr. Dawson do for you, Miss…?" Basil let it hang in the air.

"Ms. Winsome, sir. Jabeen Winsome. I think I've become involved in something quite out of the ordinary!" 

"Please, sit," said Basil. He pulled out a chair for Ms. Winsome, calm and collected, as if he hadn't just been playing the flute to calm down from an almighty tantrum that he'd mixed up two types of ash earlier. If only, thought Dawson, there was a lure to dependably get clients when Basil was in one of his Moods.

Ms. Winsome sat, and visibly forced herself to stop touching her whiskers. "I'm not sure you'll believe me," she began. This made Basil's eyes twinkle, and ears perk up. 

"We won't know that until you've told us!" said Basil, sitting across from her, hands together and fingers arched.

"It started a month ago, sirs. I rent a room above a pawn shop," she said, and Dawson ruffled his mustache. Pants, pawn shops?

"Go on," said Basil. "Get to the interesting part."

"And I help out sometimes, in the shop. Really, until last month it was the only time I came out of my rooms! Well, as I said, last month my landlady, Mrs. Shaladi, who owns the shop, she came to me and said 'Jabeen! You've gotten an invitation!' and handed me a piece of paper. It was the strangest thing."

"Surely you've been invited to things before," said Dawson. "A young lady like you."

"Not like this, sir! It was to a secret society! The Red-Furred League, they called it, sirs. They said they'd seen my fur and knew they had to invite me," she said, sitting straighter and looking proud. Dawson had to admit, her fur was a shade of red impossible to overlook.

"And what happened at this _secret society_?" asked Basil. He leaned in.

"Oh sirs, that's the strange part. They said I was being initiated. I would have left right then when they told me, but they offered me money! I had to do a new task throughout each week for the whole day and at the end of the week I'd get five guineas. I thought it was all a lark, but the tasks were interesting enough that I did them. The first week I had to copy out the dictionary, but only words about animals, and the next week I had-- well, that's not the point," she continued. "After the first week, I got my guineas. Each week, I received them, without fail. And then when I went to the meeting hall today… it was locked up tight!"

"You didn't get in, then? Denied your red-furred society?" asked Basil, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. But he remained leaned in, listening keenly.

"That's just it, sirs! I thought so at first, but I went to ask the landlord about the owner, so I could at least find out for sure and he told me that the meeting hall was being rented by my landlady! I went to her and she swore she had no idea who'd put her name on there, but it wasn't her for certain. And, sirs, she is most definitely not a red mouse! I never saw their faces, but all the mice in attendance were certainly red."

"How could you never see their faces?" Dawson had totally abandoned his paper, _The Illustrated London Mouse_.

Mrs. Judson brought in tea for everyone since breakfast had already been cleared, but the tea went untouched.

"They all wore masks," said Ms. Winsome. "Two of them were there at all times, saying they were there to keep an eye on me. They weren't threatening or any such thing or I'd have gone straight to the police."

"Did this detract from your job for the paper, Ms. Winsome?" asked Basil. Ms. Winsome's face lit up.

"Oh! You know who I am, then?" she said with a delight.

"I am, indeed, familiar with your book reviews for the _Illustrated London Mouse_. Dr. Dawson is as well, but I am sure believed you to be a man and has thus not put two and two together."

Dawson grabbed up his paper. " _You're_ J. Winsome?"

"Oh yes. That's why I'm in so often. I stay in, read my books, and write. My landlady is a fiend for getting me out among people. I don't know why someone would use her for this fraud, sirs. They allowed me to write my reviews while I was doing my tasks, but it wasn't easy."

"I expect not," said Dawson. "I noticed that. In your latest, there was no mention of the art in the gallery across the road as you normally do, all that about colours and feelings. Rather brings the books to life, I thought."

"Without my window facing the gallery, it was like writing through a wall. But the five guineas made up for it! I thought, at the time," said Ms. Winsome. "But now that I know I've been part of some trickery…"

"Dawson!" said Basil, standing up abruptly. "Get your hat. Ms. Winsome, I'll need the address of your 'secret hideout' and you to think about everything you remember before we report back with our findings."

"Thank you! I don't mind so much a trick being played on me, but involving my landlady was too far. She's a sweet old lady," said Ms. Winsome, holding her hand out to Basil, who shook it.

And into the fog went Basil and Dawson.

"It's not much to look at, is it?" said Dawson.

The secret hideout of the Red-Furred League was built into the corner of a shed, with a small knothole serving as a door near the bottom. On a small sign, written in tiny script, it urged people interested in renting this 'valuable office space' to please see Mssr. Mortimer Bleakly. An address to reach said Mssr. Mortimer Bleakly was included.

"This man," said Basil as he studied the writing, "will be tiresome, judging by that terrible form-niveau..."

"Bah, Basil, this address for the landlord is halfway across the city!" said Dawson in irritation. He bustled angrily. "We'll take all day to ask him to open this and come back!"

"Yes, what a shame," replied the detective as he began fiddling with the locking mechanism. There was a click and it swung open.

"I'm sure there's no need to bother him quite yet at this stage of investigation, Dawson," said Basil and stepped inside. Dawson deflated.

Dawson glanced back and forth quickly for witnesses, then ran after Basil.

Inside the shed, a ruler was attached to the bolthole and led up to the 'offices', built into a wooden box hidden away at the back of the shed and blocked from discovery by years of junk. The moment they stepped inside, Basil went to work, tail held high, nose to the floor, magnifying glass in hand, looking for every detail.

"Touch _nothing_ , my dear Dawson!" said Basil. "Tell me if you see the slightest thing out of the ordinary!" 

Dawson, heedful of Basil's warning and walking on his toes, examined the first office. It must have been where Ms. Winsome had done her work, as it was filled with all manner of oddities and piles of paper in the trash. A sheet of paper sticking out started with 'Aardvark' in a twitchy sort of script. 

"Basil!" called Dawson. "Do come here, won't you?"

But the end of his sentence went unheard, as Basil yelled a triumphant 'A-HA!'

Quickly, Dawson tip-toed back to his partner to see what had caused his glee. But all he saw was Basil taking a sample of some dust off the floor.

"I have what we came for, Dawson. We may leave now."

"But Basil, we've barely begun!"

Basil patted the doctor's shoulder. "There is nothing here more important than what I've discovered. Now, we must go see Mr. Bleakly, to find out more about the false Mrs. Shaladi."

"I don't see--" began Dawson, then sighed. They ran up the ruler, out the knothole, and onto the waiting Toby.

Mssr Mortimer Bleakly was a tall grey mouse, who most certainly thought of himself as very precise. His office was organized exquisitely, but to a fine eye it could be seen that proper cleaning wasn't something the office saw much of.

"I don't know what that little dumpling who came raging in at me _far_ too early in the morning has told you, but I most certainly rented it to a Mrs. Elizabeth Shaladi. The paperwork is here, signed and verified," he said, pulling it out of a folder.

"Describe her to us!" said Basil. "I need to know every detail. Think hard, man!"

Dawson sipped his tea. He was remembering his stationing in the Middle East, and thinking he'd certainly met a few Shaladis in his time overseas. It was a good lane of conversation to pursue when they questioned Mrs. Shaladi, he decided. He'd tried making small talk with Mr. Bleakly, until the mouse had, upon realizing Dawson was a doctor, tried to get him to look at a mysterious lump on top of Bleakly's tail.

Dawson was now playing mute.

"What's there to say? She was frail, had bright red fur, a purse full of money, and an intention to skip out on properly cancelling her contract," snapped Bleakly. "Most certainly not my sort of people. My sort of people pay the rent on time. And she had a _smell_. Dusty. Bothersome."

"I see…" said Basil, dropping to his knees to examine the carpet.

"Excuse me!" yelled Bleakly.

"Oh hush, tell Dr. Dawson more about your lump!" replied Basil.

Dawson shrugged helplessly at Bleakly. 

"He do this often?" said Bleakly.

"I'm afraid so. But I'm sure he has a reason."

Whatever it was Basil was looking for, he found it, collected it, and swept off with Dawson just as Bleakly was pulling down his pants.

"Well, what IS it, Basil?" said Dawson over afternoon tea. Mrs. Judson had made them her wonderful cheese crumpets to go with it. Dawson had his eye on the raspberry tart in the desserts.

Basil hmmed. "It's just a powder, Dawson. Much like something I saw our good upstairs neighbour examining some months ago in one of his cases. I believe it's part of, if not the solution to, this strange business."

"Ms. Winsome did all those tasks over a powder?" said a baffled Dawson.

"Not over the powder, Dawson, but _because_ of the powder. It is, I feel confident in saying, chalk."

Basil beamed like he'd just explained everything.

Dawson grabbed the raspberry tart.

"Fine," sighed Basil. "You'll see. We need to report back to Ms. Winsome, and I wish to see her landlady. I think things are not what they seem with the rental."

"You know, I thought that too," said Dawson.

"Hm?"

"Well, just something… the name, it made me think of a people I saw rather quite a bit in the Middle East that were most certainly not delicate little red mice."

The pawn shop, a quaint (with barred windows) affair was built into the corner of a law office. Prestigious location for the establishment, Dawson thought. He wondered what business had been there first.

Mrs. Elizabeth Shaladi had most definitely not been the renter. She was most definitely not a delicate little red mouse. She was, in fact, a round-faced brown and tan _Syrian hamster_.

"Ma'am," said Dawson, doffing his hat. "I knew a Mustafa Shaladi while stationed in the east, captain of a hamster regiment, The Hissing Goldens. You wouldn't happen to be a relation?" 

Mrs. Shaladi leaned on the counter where she had been sorting watches. "Mm. Nope. Not much for a fight, my family. Not many new customers come in knowing my name, so…?" 

"We're here on behalf of Ms. Winsome, who we believe is a lodger of yours?" said Basil, removing his own hat.

Shaladi nodded. "Jabeen lives here. You here to try to get her to look at your books?" 

"It's about the Red-Furred League, madam," said Basil. "You were the one who received the initial invitation?"

"I did. Little boy came right in here and handed it to me, said to give it to Jabeen straightaway. I was _hoping_ it was a suitor. She could use more time in the sun," said Mrs. Shaladi. 

"Did she tell you that _you_ seemingly arranged it all?" asked Basil, glancing out the window.

"She did, and I told her I did no such thing. I don't lie, my dear sirs. If I want her out, I tell her honestly that I want her out doing things before she starts eating my furniture. Usually I drag her down to the shop. Or send her to that art gallery she loves so much."

"Not much of a walk, is it now," said Basil. "Right across the street."

He gestured at the discreetly built ' _England Gallery_ ', which patrons were to enter via a grate in the wall. In fact, the whole thing was built up behind the grate. Invisible to humans due to height, but just right for mice.

"I've read in her reviews," continued Basil, "that her room affords her an excellent look inside the gallery itself."

"It does," said Mrs. Shaladi. "Can't see from the ground but she's just high enough. I tell her that art's better up close, but she says she just likes the colours. Not that there's been anything new to see, the gallery's been closed for renovations for over a month now! Gets her in the writing mood, she says. So what are you two detectives going to do about this trick? Seems harmless and she got paid nicely for it." She crossed her short arms across her chest. 

"The most devious things can seem harmless, my dear woman. That is what I do. Peel back the layers. Is she in?"

"She's _always_ in, except all of this month when she was off joining a 'secret society.' I had a good laugh when she told me what all her scuttling around had been! It'll be quite the story to tell later, mark it," said Mrs. Shaladi.

"Thank you, madam. We'll be off to see her now. If we have more questions for you, we will return." Basil strode towards the stairs to the second floor. Dawson bobbed his head to Mrs. Shaladi and followed.

"I can't see that Bleakly mixing her up with any mouse," said Dawson.

"Certainly not. Brazen, isn't it? To use the name of someone so disparate. We're facing an arrogant mind, Dawson. And that is the most satisfying of all to topple!"

Jabeen Winsome's room was filled top to bottom with books. All new and shiny.

"Mr. Basil!" said Jabeen, smiling widely, but there was still a tremble in her voice. She stepped aside to let them in. "Well? What have you found out?"

"Quite a lot, Ms. Winsome. I assume by now you no longer believe your landlady was the organizer?" Basil stood by the window, hands behind his back. He was examining the view, but Dawson hadn't the slightest idea why.

Ms. Winsome nodded. "She gave me an earful until I gave in. It didn't make any sense anyway. She's just not like that. And she certainly couldn't afford five guineas a week! I don't even pay that much in monthly rent."

"Ms. Winsome, I believe I _have_ found the solution to our little mystery," said Basil. "But I must ask you to _not_ spend the night here. Nor your landlady. Use some of your guineas to book a hotel for you both, for your own safety."

Ms. Winsome looked between Basil and Dawson, eyes wide. "Why!" 

"I believe that you may be in danger, if the ones who deceived you believe they neglected a detail that needs correcting tonight. It's best if you are not near this window," said Basil, running a finger across the windowsill. "You always work facing it, do you not?"

"I do. The paintings… their colours make me happy." Through the windows you could see a room in the gallery, the paintings inside's details obscured by distance. Bright squares of colour and nothing more.

"At all hours?"

"Oh yes, day and night."

"Yes. Please, Ms. Winsome, for the sake of yourself and Mrs. Shaladi, spend the night elsewhere!"

Their final stop, or so Dawson thought, was the gallery itself. Basil convinced them to let him in, despite the temporary closure. Once they got to the room that Ms. Winsome's room overlooked, Basil once again dropped to the ground.

"Dawson, tell me what you can see about this room!" demanded Basil.

"Well," said Dawson, taking it in. "The paintings cost a fortune. I'd say of all the rooms we've seen, this is by far the most expensive one. And it seems they've finished up the work in here, most of the equipment's been cleared out. There's footprints everywhere, they must have been working a great deal."

He looked at Basil hopefully, to see if he'd spotted the essential clue. 

"Exactly," said Basil. He held up a finger he'd just run across the floor. The tip was stained red.

"Whatever is that, Basil?" asked Dawson.

"It's chalk, my dear Dawson. Red chalk. Much like I found at the 'secret society' and Bleakly's office! The red mice that Ms. Winsome obeyed, they were not in the slightest bit truly red! They used chalk to disguise their fur - and their identity."

"Goodness," said Dawson, looking closely at the chalk. "Why on earth would they do that?"

"Because… every painting in this room is a fake."

"A fake!" cried Dawson.

"Yes, indeed. During all the work they did during renovations, no one would notice a few extra workers, but someone who gazed at this exact room almost constantly would certainly notice the paintings being switched with doubles! Dawson, she was removed to keep her from being a witness! Two to guard her, and the others to switch the paintings! And if I judge the sunset correctly… we have just enough time to get to the docks before they leave with the stolen goods!"

Basil placed the newly framed article up on the wall with a smug look.

"The case of the Red-Furred League comes to a close, my dear Dawson," he said. "Ms. Winsome much richer for their plot, you and I having solved another case, and the forgers and con-men behind bars. As it should be."

"You're bored already, aren't you, Basil," said Dawson as he opened up the paper to the book reviews. A new one by J. Winsome was in this edition, which started with a lament about being out of sorts from being cut off from her beloved paintings for the course of the review.

"Shame Ratigan died, he kept my mind rather active," said Basil wistfully.

"He tried to kill us, Basil," admonished Dawson.

"True. The worst these forgers did was show off their seamen's knots," said Basil as he picked up his flute. 

Music filled the night air outside Baker Street and London slept.

**Author's Note:**

> There's two things deleted:
> 
> An entire sub-plot where Basil and Dawson team up with a sleek, black-furred agent (Ms. Charity MacCready) of the Rescue Aid Society (The Rescuers, another mouse society Disney movie) to save the forger who is a kidnapped painter that was ditched when I found out the only abductions they dealt with was human children.
> 
> And a joke that was a little too dark about the location of Mr. Shaladi and how hamsters eat each other*, shown by Mrs. Shaladi licking her lips before saying that her husband was 'gone.' 
> 
>  
> 
> * Hamsters are my favourite rodent**  
> ** Cannibalism is a really tricky humour subject, unless you're in Hannibal fandom
> 
> Thank you to my many betas: Rav, Hina, Meli, and Beatrice_Otter.


End file.
